


Dinner?

by dmdiane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 06:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13898685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmdiane/pseuds/dmdiane
Summary: Tiny drabble inspired by Rupert's birthday tweet last summer:)





	Dinner?

Mycroft blinks. He resists clenching his jaw but his chin lifts against his will. This is simply not to be borne. Not fair. Appalling.

“Hi!”

And coming right at him. Greg Lestrade, always painfully gorgeous, is even more beautiful in casual disarray. He’s trotting across the practice pitch easily, the capable rhythm of his run smooth and powerful.

Mycroft blinks several times and finally manages to restart his brain. “Inspector. I apologize.Sherlock indicated you wanted to ask me something. I assumed you were at a crime scene. I was unaware this is obviously your day off. I will…” _kill my brother_. He gathers in a breath. “ Surely he’s informed you I’m on leave and while I don’t have access to quite as many resources as…” Greg lifts a hand, but Mycroft plows ahead. “Regardless, If there is any way that I can be of assistance I will do what I can.” _After I have seen to Sherlock’s immediate and utter humiliation_.

Greg shakes his head and, thank god, looks away, releasing Mycroft from the devastating dark gaze. Freed from the lock of Greg’s eyes, Mycroft willfully relaxes his breathing. He’s speculated that anyone who looks so enticing in a rumpled ill-fitting suit would be gorgeous in something bespoke. He’s in fact pictured the man in black tie far more often than he’ll ever admit. But how is it possible that the man is more lovely than even Mycroft could have imagined in worn shorts and a plain cream on white rugby shirt. _Good god, he’s sweaty…_ Mycroft cuts off that thought. Greg’s eyes are back and he’s speaking. His thick flop of silver hair is newly trimmed and damp, he slicks it from his face straight back where it stands in irresistible disarray. _He looks delicious._ Mycroft’s hand flexes as he forces himself to resist anyway.

“... you out for dinner.”

“...”

Greg sighs, shoulders falling slightly. He bites his bottom lip. He looks hopeful and Mycroft wants to ease that somehow. But, “Pardon?”

“Of course, if that’s just not on. I understand.” Greg looks away again, his expression soft.

“I apologize, Inspector.” Mycroft taps the handle of his umbrella. “I fear I didn’t hear you. I was distracted,” he admits. “Can you repeat that?”

Greg’s gaze comes back with force. He tilts his head, frowning. “The part about dinner? I’m asking you to have dinner with me. Will you… would you like to have dinner sometime?” His frown deepens. “It oughtn’t be so hard to ask a man out.” He mutters. When he looks up again he’s leaning slightly forward. “What I told Sherlock exactly was it's my birthday, and after a game of footie with the mates I might treat myself to asking you out. Have dinner with me, Mycroft. Let me take you out and make you laugh and tell you secrets and just take care of you, yeah?”

Mycroft stares. Huge dark eyes, wide pupils, slightly raised brow, soft mouth, a glimpse of pink tongue. _Is it possible? He’s attracted… to me._ He takes in a breath too fast, feeling heat rise up his chest to his cheeks. “Inspector…”

“Greg.”

“Gregory, yes, I... “ Mycroft licks his lips. _Yes, please._ “I would like to have dinner with you.” _Very much_. Greg’s smile is wide and brilliant, one Mycroft hadn’t let himself dream would be directed at him. Greg smiles. At him. He smiles back, helpless to do otherwise.

 

 

 

> Lovely game of birthday footie. Thanks for all bday wishes. Special thanks to everyone who gave to [@theirworld](https://twitter.com/theirworld?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw) [pic.twitter.com/ny68no4qQF](https://t.co/ny68no4qQF)
> 
> — Rupert Graves (@_RupertGraves) [June 30, 2017](https://twitter.com/_RupertGraves/status/880766995649744896?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)


End file.
